


Notes On How To Make A Cozy Home or Birds Of A Feather Flock Together

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bird DNA, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Implied Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 02:53:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19803241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: Angels are part bird. Most people don’t realize this, having never seen an angel and not knowing how God sort of mixed and matched with her first several creations. But it’s true. Angels have quite a bit of bird DNA in them.





	Notes On How To Make A Cozy Home or Birds Of A Feather Flock Together

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mating Habits of Angels and Demons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19743196) by [astudyinfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinfic/pseuds/astudyinfic). 



> This fic was inspired by astudyinfic's Mating Habits of Angels and Demons. They wrote a lovely nesting fic and it inspired me to write my own version. 
> 
> Crowley and Aziraphale feel moved by strange urges to make things cozy for each other.

Angels are part bird. Most people don’t realize this, having never seen an angel and not knowing how God sort of mixed and matched with her first several creations. But it’s true. Angels have quite a bit of bird DNA in them. It’s hard to make a creature grow feathered wings without some bird mannerisms making their way into the recipe. Those who reside in heaven tend not to exhibit many bird like qualities, other than the tendency to eye things a bit too sharply when interested or disapproving.. A habit that makes the object of their attention squirm like an insect. It’s far too officious in heaven. Far to stuffy and corporate to luxuriate in a splashy bird bath or to collect a small cache of bright, shiny things or to make a nest. They do however engage in a bit of wing preening now and then. When they think no one else is looking. 

Also, in heaven, there’s no mating. No pair bonding, outside of what one might experience in any corporate environment. People form friendships and allegiances, but tend to put the focus on the Great Plan, rather than on developing bonds with their “coworkers” as it were. And so there are very few angels who’ve ever experienced what happens when the DNA associated with bird mating habits kicks in. 

Less than very few in fact.

In reality, there’s only technically been  _ one  _ angel in all of recorded history who’s experienced this, and as a cruel and somewhat humorous twist of fate, he had no idea what was happening or why. How could he? No one had ever explained this to him, because no one else has ever experienced it. 

Demons, the ones who fall from heaven, (not the ones who crawl out of the ground or twist into being as flaming, squirming creatures spawned from nightmare as they are often wont to do), also have an echo of this genetic code floating in the backwater of their genes. They were, angels once after all. And so Lucifer, if he so chose, (and he was too black of heart and flint of eye to consider it), might have experienced some of these bird mating habits had he fallen in love and decided to pair up with someone. But that was very unlikely behavior for the Lord Of Hell. Unthinkable really. Most demons regardless were not prone to romantic love or pair bonding. They considered it disgusting and in extremely poor taste. Hell was for sticking people with hot pokers and pulling off their toenails, not for romantic, candlelit dinners. 

There was however  _ one  _ demon of fallen angel stock, moving about in the world who might be able to manage it. A demon who despite what he wanted his compatriots to see, was quite poetic in his soul where romance was concerned. He too was experiencing some very bird like yearnings and found himself doing inexplicable things as a result. 

It is here that our story begins. 6,000 years after the creation of the world, but only a mere few weeks after the Great Apocalypse had been averted. Here is where you mortals can lean in and watch, hopefully with great interest if my storytelling skills are still up to par, as an angel and a demon circle one another unknowingly, uncomprehendingly, like utter fools. 

_______________________________________________

Aziraphale pulled his eyes away from the page of Greek philosophy he’d been pouring over and pinched the bridge of his nose, giving his eyes a break by squeezing them shut for a moment. When he opened them again, he took the opportunity to glance absently around his bookshop. He’d had this strange feeling that something was missing lately, but he had no idea what. Crowley was coming over for drinks later, after they’d dined at that new Sushi place on Piccadilly. Ever since the End Of Days had not happened. Since they’d somehow averted Armageddon (something that probably had more to do with Adam then with either he or the demon), Aziraphale had felt off. Not only was there the strange lack of outside pressure surrounding his relationship with Crowley, a lack of rules and boundaries that the angel found unsettling, but there was something else. Some pressure he felt inside his chest, behind his ribcage that pushed incessantly at him to  _ do something.  _

He had no idea what, but it seemed to manifest itself most often in him cleaning the bookshop.

He’d never been particularly interested in cleaning. At least not when Crowley wasn’t around. When he was alone, he was content to let dust build up on the books in thick sheets of soft gray, or to let his tea cups pile up in the sink a bit as the months went by. But as soon as the infuriating and rakishly handsome demon stopped by, Aziraphale would snap his fingers in a panic, executing an almost completely frivolous miracle in order to bring the shop up to sparkling, tip top condition. Why? Why did it matter?

_ Because you care what he thinks of you  _ whispered a traitorous ghost of a thought, unbidden through his mind.  _ Because you want him to like you.  _

This thought made Aziraphale uncomfortable, but in a well worn way he was used to. He’d harbored some very unangelic feelings for Crowley over the millennia that defined their unlikely friendship. Feelings that had gone through several slow and complex revolutions as the centuries passed by.

Up on the wall above the Garden was where it had started. He’d eyed the large black snake with deep suspicion as it had slowly wound it’s way up the side of the Garden wall, slithering up next to him, silently and bonelessly on that fateful seventh day of a brand new earth. He was only mildly surprised when the serpent had risen up and formed itself, with a complex slip of scales into the shape of a man. Demons were notorious shape shifters. Couldn’t trust them. Very shifty they were. 

He’d cast suspicious eyes sideways at the creature, only to do an immediate double take. Beside him stood a long, lanky, high cheek boned, flame haired... vision.  _ A vision _ . Aziraphale had only been on earth seven days and yet he somehow knew that this creature was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. More beautiful than the garden. More beautiful than the bright red apple Eve had held to her lovely lips. More beautiful than the gleaming yellow glow of the sun glinting off the smooth dunes of the brand new desert splayed out before them. He gulped silently. 

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon” Drawled the demon casually. Aziraphale, beside himself for reasons he couldn’t quite explain gave a nervous giggle and asked “sorry, what was that?”. The demon turned and fixed him with a bright yellow stare and repeated himself. “I said that went down like a  _ lead balloon _ ” 

_ Snake eyes  _ thought Aziraphale absently while small alarm bells were going off inside his angel brain.  _ Pretty _ He silently kicked himself for thinking something so blasphemous. Taken aback by the strange color of the demon’s gaze, he struggled to come back with something.

“Yes.. Yes! It did rather” 

They talked amiably, if extremely nervously (on Aziraphale’s end) about the poor humans and their exit from the garden. About God’s plan and its ineffableness. Aziraphale could feel his heart pounding in his chest every time he looked at the demon. He was unused to these sorts of feelings, having only been magicked into existence a relatively short time ago… He’d basically spent most of his time singing God’s praises while accompanying himself on the harp. It was pure and loving and peaceful. Nothing about this creature beside him made him feel peaceful. He was incredibly, insanely nervous, and covered for it by being a bit pompous. Falling back on his side’s attitude of self assured condescension. An attitude that didn’t seem to affect the demon in the slightest. “Crawley” apparently, (who’d introduced himself with a polite nod) simply talking with him in a casual and alarmingly familiar way. 

__________________________________________

Back in the present day, in his cluttered book shop, the angel sighed. He often played those memories out in his mind when he felt confused or lost. As if it were proof that what he felt had a rational origin somewhere, even though he knew nothing about his feelings for Crowley were rational. 

He got up from his desk and closed the book of Greek philosophy reverently and carefully before bustling off to do the dishes and run a feather duster over the many rows of books. He found that it was becoming more and more pleasing to clean manually, especially for Crowley’s little visits. This was also a thing that defied explanation. The deep sense of contentment he felt over polishing and dusting and scrubbing his bookshop and his small flat. He felt especially contented when he attended to things he knew would make Crowley happy. Fluffing the pillows of the long couch where the demon enjoyed napping. Stocking his liquor cabinet with Crowley’s favorite vintages. Making sure the little chachkis and gifts the demon had brought him over the centuries (the wooden carving of a small horse, a tiny, but intricately detailed painting of a tree in a gilded frame, an embroidered pillow, a book of fairy tales) were prominently displayed where the demon would see them and know they were enjoyed and appreciated. 

He noticed with mild dismay that the things the demon brought him were among his most cherished possessions and that he tended to fuss over them, as he did with restuffing Crowley’s nap couch and restocking his favorite wines. These behaviors seemed subconscious. He’d sometimes “wake up” folding a soft new blanket onto the back of Crowley’s couch thinking “this will keep that old serpent warm” with a small smile on his lips, when he’d sworn he’d just been reading in a chair in another room a second ago. The words, “must make things cozy” kept repeating in his head, unbidden like a mantra. It was confusing. 

Little did he know that he was nesting. 

_____________________________________________

Birds nest when they set their sights on a mate. They gather branches and twigs and shiny things, ribbons and bits of fluff and scraps of wool and they build comfy and pleasing looking nests in order to attract said mate. The angel’s bird DNA was stirring inside of him, and yet he remained blissfully ignorant of this development. He had (deeply subconsciously as it were) chosen his mate. Even if he hated to admit it. Even if the very thought made him deeply uncomfortable. He’d never admit consciously to having made his choice. Crowley was a dear friend, and his only consistent companion these past 6000 years, but constant reminders from his superiors that demons in general and Crowley specifically were bad news and likely to try and attack him or tempt him into sin if he let his guard down for even one second had made him construct a mental barrier around the idea of longing to be with Crowley. 

But see, his conscious mind wasn’t in control of these behaviors. His thousands of years old angel-bird reflexes were insistently kicking into gear behind the scenes of his conscious mind. 

Before, when they hadn’t had the opportunity to see one another outside of every few decades or even centuries, back before Aziraphale had bought his bookshop and settled in, these feelings had been distant and nebulous. Now though, they were rising up with a vengeance. And the poor angel had no idea why. All he knew was that it was centered around an infuriatingly handsome demon and that his bookshop must be made as comfy and welcoming as possible so that said demon would want to spend as much time there as he could. 

  
  


And it worked like a charm. Crowley swung by at least two or three times a week for after dinner drinks, or simply to chat at random times of day. He had started taking long naps, dark clad limbs spread out in every which direction on what Aziraphale now thought of as “Crowley’s Couch” while the angel sipped some herbal tea and read, contentedly in an overstuffed armchair nearby. Seeing the demon, relaxed and trusting enough to be unconscious around him for extended periods of time had made Aziraphale feel joyful in a way he found hard to define. It just felt  _ good. Good and right.  _

__________________________________________________

For his part, the demon was confused as well. He’d tried to entice the angel over to his austere, modern flat a few times, and had been dismayed when his pray did not take the bait. He’d done a few things around the place to make it …. His mind supplied the word “ready”, even though that made no sense… ready for what exactly? He’d prominently displayed the bird statue from the bombed out church where he’d saved Aziraphale’s books decades ago in the front foyer. He’d carefully arranged a few books on topics he thought the angel might find interesting on a small, gilded table in the living room. He’d even purchased a few scented candles. Vanilla. Creme Brulee. Cinnamon. All smells related to decadent desserts in hopes of inticing the sweetly plump Aziraphale into his demon’s den. It hadn’t worked very well. 

Aziraphale had stopped by a few times, turned his nose up at Crowley’s slate gray walls, at his ridiculous gilded, red velvet thrown, at his trembling plants and had left shortly afterwards. His visits to Crowley’s flat were always a bit rushed and perfunctory. The longest he’d spent there had been after he’d thought his bookshop had burned down, when he’d spent the night, reading on Crowley’s couch while the demon had laid in bed, awake all night, feeling the angel’s heat radiating from the next room. Tossing and turning with a mix of worry for what was to come the next day and with unspoken desire over having the soft, delicious creature only yards away from where he lay. 

It made sense when you consider that Crowley wasn’t an angel. He was a demon, and so the bird DNA hadn’t downloaded quite the right instructions into his devious brain. There was a dark filter in place that warped the ancient avian signals that shone so brightly inside the angel, so that Crowley was left feeling lost and ineffectual over how to tempt the angel to spend more time at his place, even as he felt a strong and inexplicable pull to do the tempting. He didn’t have as good a grasp on sensuality and coziness and things that were warm and delicious as Aziraphale did. And so after a short while, only a few short weeks before, during and after the appoca-wasn’t of trying to lure Aziraphale to his lair, he’d given up and simply started spending more time at the angel’s bookshop instead. 

Another possible reason for the flat lure stalemate could be that they were both male (male enough anyway, having decidedly male bodies). Most bird couples were male/female and only the males made nests. So two males… making nests at each other.. The stronger of the two with the better nest (undoubtedly Aziraphale) would win. And he did. 

Which was fine. Crowley found spending more time at Aziraphale’s to be a pleasing compromise because if he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he loved spending time at Aziraphale’s bookshop. It was so… he hated to say the word, and inwardly flinched at what his demon compatriots would say if they knew he thought this… but it was  _ cozy.  _

_ And safe…  _ He felt safe in the bookshop. Even surrounded by the smell of angels and angel things like books and teacups and dust. It was like a warm little … well a nest. And Crowley would often perch (as it were) on the couch or at a desk across from the angel and let the feelings of contentedness and safety swell up inside him. 

He didn’t let on. Not with words. Not explicitly. He never did where the angel was concerned. He’d kept it all inside for a very very long time. Since the beginning really

________________________________________________________

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” Crawley asked after eyeing the angel beside him with more than a little interest. He’d only ever seen angels from afar since he’d fallen. Which was fine with him. Officious, pompous bastards, all of them. They’d cast him out for the simple crime of thinking for himself, and he’d be damned if he’d trust one of their heavenly number ever again. But there was something different about this one. He’d exuded an air of politeness, of cautiousness and nervousness that made him seem very approachable. 

_ Why not strike up a conversation? _ Crawley had thought.  _ What harm can come from it? _ And afterall he was lonely. He’d had nothing but other demons, repulsive, vindictive, unimaginative and crude to spend time with. The sight of the angel, standing pensively on the wall and gazing out at the new and barren dessert had provided him with an opportunity. For what? He wasn’t sure. Company? Entertainment? 

When he’d willed his serpent’s form to pour itself into the shape of a man with flowing dark robes and large, coal black wings, he’d casually struck up a conversation. When the angel had asked him to repeat himself, he’d turned his eyes to the creature in white to seriously assess his appearance close up for the first time. 

Luckily, Crowley’s time spent in Hell had provided him with ample opportunity to develop an impressive poker face. One couldn’t go about showing one’s feelings on one’s face in a community of back stabbers, theives, murderers, liars and other riff raff. If it weren’t for his powers of self containment, he’d have fallen over backwards at his first sight of the angel. Eyes the color of the storm clouds, like the towering gray green cumulus clouds that were gathering threateningly out in the desert. Except not quite like storm clouds. Instead, they were bright and shining, gleaming and expressive, promising something far better than bad weather, in a handsome face framed by white blond curls. Love shown from the angel’s beautiful face, pure, angelic love that made Crawley want to run and hide himself away so that he wasn’t burned by it. The angel’s eyes, even the quick glances he first cast in Crawley’s direction, pierced the demon straight through. 

_ Keep it together _ Crawley swiftly admonished himself.  _ Act. Casual _

And he did. He acted as painfully, offhandedly casual as he possibly could. He poured every ounce of his dark powers of deception into behaving as if his black heart were not suddenly beating like the heart of a terrified rabbit inside his reptile chest. 

The angel hadn’t sneered at him. Hadn’t been scared, cold, cruel or dismissive. He’d been very warm and welcoming, if somewhat nervous. His false front of stuffy condescension about “God’s ineffable plan” was a charming way to cover his nervousness. Crawley secretly found it quite endearing. This put-on huffyness. It made him want to tease the angel to see if he could make it happen again.

Eventually, as their patter had warmed up, and they’d chatted back and forth for a minute, he’d noticed that the angel’s sword was nowhere to be seen. Using this knowledge as an excuse to let his eyes roam over the angel’s soft, pleasing form, he’d asked “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” 

The angel immediately grew very awkward, looking everywhere but at Crawley. “I gave it away” he mumbled indistinctly. 

“YOU WHAT?” Crawley might have to reassess some of his hastily drawn assumptions about the beautiful creature next to him. Maybe he wasn’t like the other stuffy, judgmental angels who shared his race. Maybe he was more than just a beautiful pushover. 

“I GAVE IT AWAY!” yelled the angel anxiously. Clearly very distraught over his rebellious act. And with good reason. Angels  _ don’t  _ disobey. They don’t do things without  _ permission _ . They don’t strike off on their own path and they do NOT give away their flaming swords. But  _ this _ angel had. 

Crawley felt his mouth fall open as the angel explained his reasoning… there were wild animals.. She’d been expecting, and so forth. 

He blinked, feeling something break open in his serpent’s heart and spill forth uncomfortably into his chest cavity. A warm feeling, full of what might be respect? Awe? 

_Oh no_ he thought _. Oh no no no no no no. This was not good._ This was him, a demon feeling what were certainly feelings of warmth and respect for _The Enemy_. He quickly rallied, pushing the feelings down into a little dark box inside himself and again affected the air of casual companionship as they bantered back and forth about who was doing the good thing and who was doing the bad one. Not the best conversational direction, but it had to be better than staring at the angel with moon eyes and his mouth hanging open. He still couldn’t help a beaming smile from playing across his face. _What’s wrong with me?_ He thought desperately. _Wipe that flirty_ _smile off your face you ridiculous fool._ Luckily, the angel only smiled back at him… that nervous, cautious smile that Crawley was starting to really look forward to seeing. 

There was a rumble of thunder and the first of trillions upon trillions of raindrops began to fall. Crawley watched that first drop hit the angel’s cheek and course gently downwards towards his chin. It looked like a tear. He felt something indescribable move deep inside of him at the sight. Then the angel, keeping his eyes carefully on the horizon and the approaching storm, lifted his wing in a silent invitation. Crawley quickly and gratefully, if a bit cautiously edged closer and took shelter under the wide white feathers. He could feel the angel’s heat radiating against him as he stood as close as he dared. They watched the rain fall on the desert and Crawley felt his heart leap painfully in his chest as the clouds roiled threateningly in the distance. 

  
  


____________________________________________________

Ever since that day, Crowley had worked hard not to be the ridiculous fool he’d chided himself for up on that wall. He’d done his very best to keep his feelings, at first awe and warmth, then companionship and fondness, as hidden as he could from Aziraphale. He knew these feelings were forbidden and dangerous. That he’d be not only flayed alive for feeling them, but also, quite possibly mocked for the rest of eternity. Falling for an angel wasn’t done. It was “fraternizing with the enemy”. A few demons had struck up casual acquaintances with angels, in a strictly professional capacity. Much as the leaders of opposing countries or how high ranking military officials might parlay with one another, but nothing beyond that. The two sides were traditionally disgusted with each other. 

Demons reminded angels of what could happen if you asked too many question. They were seen by angels as repulsive and disgusting, devious and dangerous. And what’s worse.. They were seen as classless. Covered in boils and slime and surrounded by flies (in Beelzebub’s case anyway). No sense of style. No sense of self respect. 

Demons hated angels the way an unsuccessful person loathed their popular and successful sibling who’d always been their parent’s favorite. You know the one. The sibling who gets high marks in school and goes on to a top level position in a good company. The one with the good smile and the loving partner, while demons were still figuratively living in their parent’s basement, drinking too much and unable to hold down a job. It was a dark, bitter hatred, and it was only made worse by the fact that angels were so very boring. No personality them. 

It was a hatred that spanned the entirety of time and space, and it was well known to Crowley. Thing is though, his angel was different. He wasn’t boring at all. Always chattering on about some piece of history or some interesting literary tidbit he’d picked up, Aziraphale was quite entertaining. He delighted in telling jokes, asking questions, learning more and more about the human world around him. He loved eating sumptuous foods and drinking good wine, and he veritably beamed with sunny charm in a way that made Crowley want to warm himself by the angel’s light whenever possible. There was nothing truly stuffy or intolerant about Aziraphale. Well, other than his insufferable immunity to modernity that is. The angel only updated his wardrobe every 50 - 60 years and eschewed cell phones and computers for his antique telephone with rotary dials and his ancient typewriter. 

But all of that only made him more charming. Those stuffed shirts Gabriel and Sandalphon would never be caught dead indulging in antique human contraptions or trying Korean food. It was all business for those insufferable twats. 

On top of all of Aziraphale’s other qualities, he was insanely fun to mess about with. Crowley adored getting under the angel’s skin. In gently mocking him so that he flushed and spluttered, or got irritable and snapped at Crowley. He never took it too far, but he was a demon wasn’t he? Couldn’t be seen to be going all soft. So he peppered their friendship with playful jibes and pretended at being irritable with the angel, just to keep him on his toes. It was all a careful ruse actually. To hide his actual feelings. Feelings that made him want to run his fingers through the angel’s white-blond hair. Feelings that made Crowley spend too much time contemplating the angel’s soft, well shaped lips from behind the relative safety his dark glasses. He hated that he couldn’t stop these other, softer feelings from welling up when he was around Aziraphale. He knew the angel couldn’t return his affections. How could he? Crowley’s heart was black and tainted like the hearts of all demons. He was a thing that crawled on the ground and hid in the shadows. He didn’t deserve the pure, beautiful, angelic love that Aziraphale beamed out at the world. And so what if some stray glints of this general, worldly love splashed in Crowley’s direction? It wasn’t on purpose. Aziraphale cared for him as a friend, and clearly enjoyed his company, and that was enough. It had to be.

So when he’d felt the strong urges to make a safe and secure home for the two of them inside his austere flat, Crowley had written it off as nonsense and had given up soon after. It hadn’t worked anyway. Of course not. Why would it? And Aziraphale seemed content to have Crowley intrude on him in his bookshop a few times a week. Had even seemed to go out of his way to make Crowley comfortable there. He’d always been a very considerate angel. So Crowley, drawn like a dark moth to a white hot flame had begun coming around more and more often. 

It was only natural, he told himself, that two creatures such as he and Aziraphale, down here in the trenches for so many millennia together, working side by side would end up spending time together. But if he were honest, he’d admit in his weaker moments that not only were they very close friends, but that if Aziraphale were to ever push him away, or if, for Satan’s sake something happened to the angel (he had a sudden, anguished memory of the burning bookshop leap to mind), he’d be well and truly lost. He’d gone past liking the angel and had moved into the dangerous territory of  _ needing him _ .

And so he invited Aziraphale out to dinner at London’s most well reviewed restaurants. He brought the angel specially picked out little gifts, always with the caveat “someone was throwing this out” or “I found this on the ground somewhere” or “I bought this and didn’t want it” and handed them to the angel casually, as if he couldn't care less. Only to see Aziraphale’s storm colored eyes light up with glee, which filled him with a strange pride he couldn’t explain. He napped often on the extremely comfy couch Aziraphale kept in his back room. The one right next to the angel’s favorite reading chair, so that he could bask in the angel’s warmth. 

It wasn’t that bad. Friendship was important. It was good and honest and pure. Never mind that he wanted to do things to the angel that were far from pure. Never mind that he burned to touch the angel in ways that would probably make him blush and recoil in horror. Never mind that his arms felt emptier and emptier as the centuries passed without Aziraphale being inside them. He pushed all of those feelings and urges down. He had it pretty good really. He’d found a best friend to wile away the time on earth. And now that the Apocalypse had been averted, they had even more time to spend together. 

Not only that, but their respective sides had backed off. There was a marked lack of supervision. Crowley didn’t know what to do with this new freedom. It had been easier when he’d had His Side’s disapproving glowers and threats as a backup to his own beliefs that Aziraphale could never return his feelings. But now there was just the angel’s polite friendship to content with. No one was actively keeping Crowley away from Aziraphale but Aziraphale himself. This felt sad and awkward and left Crowley at a lack for what to do next. So he just continued on as he had. Chatting, joshing, laughing, drinking with the angel. Napping on his couch. Basking in his light. 

__________________________________________________________

Aziraphale finished scrubbing the last of the delicate china tea cups and placed it reverently in the dish drainer by his small sink. He sighed contentedly. The bookshop was now nice and clean and tidy. Hopefully it would make Crowley feel at home.. Relaxed.. Cozy. There was that word again.  _ Cozy. _

He checked the wine rack again to make sure he had several bottles of red that he knew the demon liked. Then he headed out to meet Crowley at the sushi place on Piccadilly. 

Crowley had apparently beat him there. He lounged at one of those small, wooden tables that were a staple at sushi places, making the rickety wooden chair somehow look luxuriously comfortable as he draped himself over it. He had ordered saki, and two small ceramic cups were laid out on the table top. 

He looked… well he looked indecently attractive… as he always had. Red hair fashionably disarrayed atop his head in gleaming, auburn peaks, dark glasses firmly in place, silk shirt open to reveal a distracting expanse of smooth chest. His legs, encased in tight black jeans were spread out wide, as if in a lude invitation, and he wore black snakeskin boots with silver tips. Aziraphale had to remind himself to breath, as he often did upon seeing Crowley for the first time in a while. He also reminded himself, for possibly the five billionth time, that Crowley was a demon. They were created to tempt. For all he knew, the decidedly unangelic feelings he felt stirring in parts of himself when he spent time with the demon were all part of an incredibly long game of temptation. He had to admit though that as long games went, this one hadn’t paid off all that well. At least not sexually.

Except… the demon  _ had _ succeeded in setting up The Arrangement, and in getting Aziraphale to perform a few minor temptations for him. Their entire friendship could definitely be looked upon as a successful temptation. This was something Aziraphale felt quite a bit of shame and guilt over. What was worse, even if it was a temptation, this long and memorable friendship they’d shared had been so enjoyable and fulfilling that he didn’t care. If he was helpless against Crowley’s evil wiles, then he was helpless. Nothing to be done about it. It made him sad though to think that it might mean nothing more for the demon than a job. 

He put a brave smile on and greeted Crowley amiably, hiding his fears and desires. “Hello dear boy. How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long” drawled Crowley with a sideways grin. “I ordered us drinks”. 

“Why thank you dear” Aziraphale settled himself on the wooden chair that was just barely wide enough to accommodate him. “How have you been since last I’ve seen you?” 

“Not bad. Getting used to not having any direct orders coming up the wire. I’ve been sort of giving up on the tempting business for a few weeks. Thought I’d give just living a try” remarked the demon casually. But his words caused Aziraphale to freeze in place. 

“You what??” he asked in alarm. “You… you’re….” he stammered. “You’ve decided to just stop being a demon?” He struggled to hide the intense bloom of hope that opened up in his chest like sunflower. 

“Well..” amended Crowley self consciously “Not really. I mean. I’m still a demon  _ per say _ . I’ve just found that with no one around demanding that I do my job, I’ve sort of lost interest. I still have a heart as black as coal and all that. Still the same old serpent me.” 

“Ah.. I see” said Aziraphale. Perhaps this was a good sign? “Well, I suppose, while I haven’t stopped being  _ good  _ as it were, I  _ have _ devoted quite a bit more time to my own needs lately. I’ve felt some very strong urges to clean up the bookshop and make things orderly.”

“Yeah.. you have haven’t you?” said Crowley. “I’ve noticed it’s been a bit more, what’s the word? Cozy there lately.”

Aziraphale almost choked on his saki. He recovered quickly, pressing a napkin to his mouth. “What did you say?” he asked, heart pounding for some completely incomprehensible reason. 

“I said it’s nice over there at your bookshop” replied Crowley, apparently having missed Aziraphale’s minor heart attack. “It’s cozy”

_ THAT WORD AGAIN.  _ Aziraphale could not understand the feeling of deep pride and satisfaction he felt upon hearing that word come out of Crowley’s mouth, referring to his abode. Something about it made him feel like he’d accomplished a great feat. When really, he’d only succeeded in making Crowley comfortable in his bookshop. 

He rallied admirably and changed the subject, but couldn’t shake the feeling of deep satisfaction and enjoyment. Not that he wanted to. He suddenly felt elated. “What shall we have?” He smiled broadly and busied himself with looking at the laminated menu. “I hear they do a fantastic sashimi salad thing here.”

He ended up ordering three special rolls, tempura vegetables, the sashimi salad with seaweed, drizzled in spicy sauce and topped with fish roe and a green salad, served with that ginger dressing that no being, immortal or otherwise could effectively resist. 

Crowley picked at the sushi here and there while downing several shots of hot rice wine. Aziraphale, after consuming the majority of the food with extreme pleasure, finally leaned back in the tiny wooden chair and offered up his small ceramic mug in a toast. “To freedom!” he beamed a sunny smile at Crowley and was rewarded with the demon’s wicked grin in return as he raised his own mug to clink it gently against Aziraphale’s. “To freedom” he replied in a voice that sounded contented. 

“Shall we head to my place for some after dinner drinks?” Suggested Aziraphale, and was pleased when Crowley predictably and readily agreed. 

“I’ll drive” the demon replied, casually tossing some money down on the table to cover the meal. Aziraphale added a ludicrous tip, and they walked out to the Bently. “Please Crowley” Aziraphale pleaded “Please at least  _ try _ to obey the speed limit. I’m prone to motion sickness when I’ve had saki”. 

“I’ll do no such thing” teased Crowley. “You’ve known me long enough to understand that doing the speed limit isn’t something to ever expect of me”... he suddenly grew pensive, and Aziraphale wondered if he might be thinking of that time, back in 1967 was it? When Aziraphale had said those fateful words to him.  _ You go too fast for me Crowley _

What he’d meant to say was in fact  _ “I adore you Crowley. I long to touch you Crowley. I am scared Crowley. What if they find out? What if they hurt you? What if you don’t ever return my feelings?” _

But what  _ had _ come out instead was  _ “You go too fast for me Crowley”.  _ He’d regretted it the moment he’d gotten out of the Bently, leaving a confused and sad looking demon behind, clutching a tartan thermos full of holy water. It had been a defining moment in their relationship. A moment in time where things might have gone in a different direction, if only Aziraphale had accepted the ride that Crowley had offered. Perhaps back to his flat, where Aziraphale could find the courage to move towards Crowley. To touch him somehow. To possibly work at unbuttoning that slinky shirt and reach trembling hands inside to touch… 

Aziraphale shook his head to break the spell of the memory and climbed into the Bently, for probably the hundredth time since that night. “Well, at the very least, you could avoid the sidewalks”. 

______________________________________________________

  
  


Back at the angel’s bookshop they were comfortably settled with their glasses of wine. Crowley was recounting a tale of how he’d tempted a Franciscan monk into an affair with a Catholic priest. It was funny, but Aziraphale covered his laugh with a soft hand, afraid that giggling at the corruption of holy men might not go over well.  _ With whom though? _ He thought.  _ Heaven? _ They didn’t matter anymore. Not for the time being anyway. The thought made him giggle harder, made his cheeks flush. 

“I ‘appeared to him’ as if in a vision” said Crowley with a devious smirk. “Stood all dramatic at the end of his bed and told him if he wanted to avoid sin, he’d have to bugger the priest until they both saw stars. It wasn’t all that difficult, as he’d been daydreaming about shagging the other man for months at that point. But it was still fun” recalled Crowley. “I even got my wings involved… for effect”. At that, a regretful expression crossed his face. “My wings… well. They’re not what they used to be”. 

“What do you mean by that?” Asked Aziraphale, suddenly very interested in what Crowley had to say next. He loved Crowley’s gleaming black wings, and he rarely got the chance to see them as they both kept them tucked away in the astral plane most of the time. 

“Well” Crowley continued, looking a bit bashful. “I’ve sort of …. Let them go over the past few centuries. Haven’t been flying much. Haven’t had the time to give them a proper preening.”

Aziraphale felt his heart pounding uncomfortably for the second time that night. “Crowley…” he ventured shyly, carefully setting his wine glass down on a nearby side table. “If you like… I could… have a look. I mean, I’ve neglected mine as well, but … I could see if I could help you.. Erm… with the preening.” He held his breath and waited for Crowley to call him a pervert and make a joke. Something about this moment felt profound and important. Much like the cleaning of the bookshop, and the “C-word”. 

But Crowley surprised him. “Well.. alright” he said in a voice that was a bit stiff. “That would be.. Very nice of you.”

Aziraphale felt his heart leap and his face burn.

“Show me dear” he asked gently. 

Crowley obliged, unfolding his ebony feathers from the astral plane and spreading his wings as wide as he could within the confines of the bookshop’s admittedly relatively spacious back room. Aziraphale felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight. God he loved Crowley’s wings. He knew the darkness in them was supposed to represent the demon’s blackened soul, but that didn’t stop them from being gleaming and lovely. Like the wings of a glossy raven. 

Crowley hesitantly turned around and displayed his plumage for Aziraphale’s inspection, and Aziraphale stepped closer. The wings were indeed a bit of a mess. Errant feathers stuck out in odd directions, and they looked a bit dusty. Aziraphale reverently placed one hand very very gently onto the soft feathers. He felt Crowley tremble slightly under his touch, and he gulped audibly. He hoped this was a good idea. But it felt  _ extremely right. _ He decided to go with his gut, and began, gently tugging at and rearranging Crowley’s coal black feathers. Using his fingers to brush the dust and bits of dirt from the wings. They disappeared into the air. He saw and felt Crowley sigh deeply. Saw his head fall forward, exposing the lovely back of his neck. When the demon’s knees buckled, Aziraphle hurried to bring over a small stool so that he could sit down while the angel worked. 

“That feels… that feels really nice angel” breathed Crowley as Aziraphale continued tugging and rearranging, brushing and preening. Aziraphale didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was lost, as if in a trance. The work of cleaning the demon’s feathers had awoken in him a sense of deep peacefulness. He was completely and utterly present and felt himself suffused with a profound sense of love as he worked to clean and order the Crowley’s errant feathers. 

Little did he know, that mutual preening was a major step in bird pair bonding. How could he? He just knew that this felt more right than almost anything else he’d ever done where the demon was concerned. There was no fear of reprisal. No worries over Crowley’s inability to return his feelings. He was in a place of complete selflessness and deep affection. 

Crowley certainly appeared to be enjoying it. He’d slumped bonelessly forward on the stool, long neck bent, chin almost resting on his chest. He’d spread his wings out as far as they could go, and Aziraphale heard small grunts of pleasure and soft sighs of enjoyment coming from the demon. 

Eventually, he finished his work with a swift series of brushes down the length of Crowley’s wings. They gleamed, glinting darkly in the yellow lamplight of the bookshop. Aziraphale, still entranced, still feeling this deep sense of affection and awe, couldn’t stop himself. He saw the lovely expanse of the back of Crowley’s neck, exposed before him, where he stood behind the demon.. The gentle bump of his C-7 vertebrae, the demon’s bright red hairline. The long muscles of the back of his neck, stretching temptingly out before him. He placed the tips of his fingers gently on the bump of that vertebrae and slowly, deliberately pushed his fingertips up the length of Crowley’s bowed neck and into his hair. 

He heard Crowley groan in pleasure, and felt the noise reverberate through the demon’s skull, where his fingers were now buried in the demon’s soft red tresses. 

______________________________________________________________

  
  


Crowley luxuriated under the angel’s touch. It helped that he was seated, facing away from Aziraphale so that the angel couldn’t see the expressions on his face. His slack mouth, hanging open in pleasure, eyes fluttering slowly shut as he felt the angel’s deft hands on the feathers of his outstretched wings. He let his head fall forward. His mind had gone utterly blank the minute Aziraphale had laid a soft hand on his wing. All he could feel was pleasure. Was warmth. Was affection, as Aziraphale carefully and gently began to preen him with delicate tugs and brushes of his skilled hands. He was suddenly but distantly glad that his sunglasses were the kind with hooks on the end of their stems so that they stayed anchored around his ears. Otherwise, they’d have clattered noisily to the floor when his head had lolled forward, tilting his chin towards his chest. 

Never in his very very long life had he felt this cared for. This accepted. This  _ cherished _ . Even in the distant and hazy memories before he’d fallen. Demons didn’t have many pleasures they were allowed in life outside of temptations and devious deeds. Wine yes. Meaningless sex with mortals..maybe. Not for Crowley anyway. He had no taste for it. Nowhere in Hell was there this sort of kindness and intimacy. This tender, caring attention that Aziraphale was lavishing on him in this moment. He never wanted it to end. 

But eventually it did end. He felt Aziraphale give a few brisk sweeps with his hands over each of Crowley’s wings… then a brief pause while Crowley tried to summon the desire to move.. To break this moment with movement or speech or something equally vulgar and completely unnecessary. 

But then he felt Aziraphale’s soft fingertips on the back of his neck.. 

Felt them stroke slowly up the length of his neck and curl themselves into his hair. His whole body tingled with intense pleasure and he let out a deep moan that sounded utterly indecent. 

Both of them froze. 

The noise he’d made, he hadn’t even recognized it when it came gusting from his open mouth. It was the sound of it that snapped him out of his trance. It was decidedly  _ not  _ the kind of noise you make when a friend touches you. But then, to be fair, it hadn’t been a  _ friendly _ touch. Those deft fingers, curling sensuously in the sensitive hair at the back of his head… not friendly At. All. He felt Aziraphale quickly pull his hand back and barely suppressed a sob of disappointment. 

_ It’s OK,  _ he thought _. No big deal. Just act as if everything’s normal _

He gently folded away his wings, tucking them back into the astral plane and away from sight and stood up slowly from where he’d been perched on Aziraphale’s stool. He turned slowly, afraid of what he’d see when he looked at the angel. 

What he saw was Aziraphale, his hands clasped at his chest, a look of shame and anxiety on his face. 

_ Oh no  _ Crowley felt a sinking feeling in his chest _. He’s upset _

The angel started to speak. “Crowley.. I. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to..” But Crowley cut him off before he could finish his sentence. 

“It’s perfectly fine angel” he said, affecting his best impression of himself, not caring overly much about something. “It’s gotten late and I really should be going.” As he spoke, he barrelled past the angel and headed for the door of the bookshop, barely catching a last sight of the angel’s stricken and confused face as he passed. 

“Thank you for the … er help!” he yelled over his shoulder, and then he was outside the shop, the door slammed behind him. He took a deep, calming breath of night air as he strode purposefully towards the Bentley. But before he could reach it and get in, he heard the shop door open again, behind him.

___________________________________________________

Aziraphale froze. He’d done it now. He’d crossed a line that should not have been crossed. Moments ago, when he was caught up in the warm trance of caring for Crowley, of preening Crowley’s wings, the touch, a lover’s caress for sure, had felt natural. Of course he wanted to caress Crowley… to push his hands up into that mess of auburn hair. He wanted to do a lot more than that.. He wanted to kiss that neck. To turn Crowley around on that stool and wrap his arms around him and squeeze him tight. To kiss him.. To …. 

The moan that had issued from the demon’s throat at the feel of the angel’s fingers in his hair certainly  _ sounded _ as if he’d enjoyed it, but it had snapped Aziraphale out of his reverie, in time to let the errant and traitorous thought trip through his mind.

_ What if Crowley is tempting me?  _

The thought took root immediately and became a sudden certainty, in the way that negative thoughts do when one is already in a weakened and insecure position.  _ He did say he’d taken a break from tempting lately. What if he missed it and wanted to try his hand to tempt an angel into bed? Or if tempting me was all an elaborate set up? Take me out to dinner, casually mention that he’d taken a break from being demonic, then bring up the whole wings needing preening thing…?  _ A rational voice in the back of Aziraphale’s mind suggested that this was an awful lot of work to put into doing something the demon could have done for six millennia now but hadn’t yet. 

But that’s just it, argued Aziraphale with himself as he took a fearful step back from the demon… Things were different now. Perhaps Crowley had felt bored with life post Armageddon-that-wasn’t. Perhaps he’d needed to up his game in order to entertain himself?

It would certainly explain why he felt as if the action had not been under his conscious control. And maybe it would explain the peaceful, loving trance that cleaning Crowley’s wings had placed him under. But that didn’t feel right either. The way touching Crowley’s wings, brushing them free of dust and grit and gently rearranging them, had made him feel could not possibly be a thing of demonic origin. It had felt like… it had felt like…  _ home _ . Like coming home after a long trip. Of stepping back through one’s own front door and smelling the smell of one’s own house welcoming you back reassuringly. That couldn’t possibly be evil or wicked or wrong could it? 

But then why had he taken it further? He desired Crowley. Oh how he desired Crowley. That wasn’t the confusing part. The confusing part was why he’d broken their unspoken rule about avoiding intimate touch after 6,000 years. The most physical contact they’d had in all that time were friendly hand shakes, pats on the back, and on one memorable occasion, when Crowley had angrily shoved him up against a convent wall and growled “I’m not nice!” into his face. But that wasn’t what he’d call “intimate” really. Not like stroking the pale back of the demon’s neck. Not like winding his hungry fingers into the demon’s soft hair. 

Crowley was standing up now… time had slowed down a bit it seemed. He turned around and regarded Aziraphale with an unreadable look, his glasses firmly in place over his yellow eyes. Aziraphale had felt the need to apologize rise up inside him suddenly.

“Crowley.. I. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to..” 

To his dismay, Crowley’s face hardened and he pushed past the angel with a stiff excuse as he moved to leave. Aziraphale felt his hands reach up, reaching towards the demon’s receding, black clad form as if he could grab him and pull him back. He felt his heart sinking in his chest, and he felt immediately ashamed of suspecting Crowley of using his evil wiles to tempt him. He was blameless in this. It was Aziraphale’s hungry heart and grasping hands that had really been to blame. He could understand if crossing that line had made Crowley upset. The demon cared about him, he knew this. But beyond that. Beyond friendship, his black, fallen heart could hardly… love Aziraphale. Not in the way Aziraphale loved him. Aziraphale had known this for a long time. Ever since he felt the first thrilling stirrings inside his chest upon laying eyes on the demon that fated day on the Garden wall. Demons do not love. They lust yes, which had explained Crowley’s instant reaction to the feel of Aziraphale’s touch. But the deep and abiding love Aziraphale felt could never touch Crowley’s heart. 

What was worse was that even if they’d both felt the same, something dreadful would surely happen if they allowed themselves to touch more. It was forbidden for a reason. There must be  _ some _ negative consequences to an angel and a demon… touching in those sorts of ways. It was never done. 

Aziraphale banished these thoughts from his mind as he felt his feet move to follow Crowley.  _ What are you doing?  _ His flustered mind struggled to gain control over his mischievous feet, but he couldn’t stop himself as he rushed to the door of the shop and flung it open. 

Crowley was most of the way to the Bently before Aziraphale called his name.

___________________________________________________

“Crowley!” 

At the sound of the angel calling his name, Crowley stopped dead in his tracks. But he didn’t turn around. 

“Crowley, please stop”, Aziraphale had left the shop and had stepped up beside him, placing a very hesitant hand to Crowley’s arm. “Please don’t leave” he said in a quiet supplication that made Crowley’s heart clench. “Come back inside and lets talk”

Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What harm could it do? And besides, he didn’t really want to leave. He loved being in the book shop.. He loved spending time with Aziraphale. He loved… 

_ Enough of that! _

He opened his eyes and turned to face Aziraphale with a resigned sigh. “Oh alright angel. If you haven’t had enough of my company, I suppose I don’t have to head home just yet”, still struggling to pretend as if nothing was amiss.  _ You coward _ , he admonished himself as he followed Aziraphale back into the shop. 

Stepping back into the bookshop, he became instantly aware again of the feeling of being warm and sheltered and safe. Of being incredibly  _ cozy _ . He hadn’t noticed how strong this feeling was earlier this evening because he hadn’t had the sharp contrast of the street outside, giving way again to the feel of the bookshop upon reentering. It was like night and day. The feeling of the sidewalk outside Aziraphale’s shop, cold and neutral as the rest of London, and the feeling he got immediately upon reentering. Like being wrapped in a warm embrace. He glanced about and suddenly noticed that Aziraphale placed all the little gifts Crowley had given him over the years, (with an excuse and a grumble so as not to appear too caring) in prominent places about the shop. He felt his insides loosen up a bit and his heart beat a bit faster.  _ My… how nice _ … he thought absently as he followed Aziraphale to the angel’s living space at the back of the shop. 

Aziraphale took a seat on Crowley’s favorite sofa and Crowley sat down next to him. Not too close. Far enough so that he could turn towards the angel. They both sat there, in a somewhat awkward silence for a few moments. 

Aziraphale broke it eventually. “About what happened” he started

“Nothing happened angel. Its all fine” interrupted Crowley, a bit too abruptly. 

“Oh please shut up Crowley” Aziraphale snapped.. Crowley’s eyes widened behind his shades, but he shut his mouth. 

“Would you do me a favor?” asked Aziraphale, and Crowley wanted to blurt out  _ anything. I’ll do anything you ask.  _ But instead he just grunted with a small nod

“Please do remove those dark glasses dear. I feel like I can’t really talk to you about anything important while you’re hiding behind them”

“‘M’not hiding” mumbled Crowley. But he obediently pulled the sunglasses from his face and placed them on a nearby table. He kept his yellow snake eyes cast downward, loath to remind Aziraphale of his demon nature at this moment. 

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed” began Aziraphale again. “But I’ve been feeling strange lately.”

“More than usual?” Quipped Crowley, unable to quell the age old habit of trying to get Aziraphale’s goat whenever possible. 

Aziraphale fixed him with a disapproving glance, but didn’t take the bait. “I’ve had some rather strong… urges lately.. To fix up the bookshop. To clean and rearrange things in order to make it more hospitable. And not just in general. I rather think I’ve been doing this because I wanted  _ you  _ to spend more time here” Crowley’s head snapped up to look at Aziraphale upon hearing this and he caught sight of the angel blushing and looking down at his hands, that were folded neatly in his lap. 

“I had noticed actually” muttered Crowley, feeling a strange stirring inside his chest at seeing Aziraphale, all shy and sweet like this. 

“You have?” Aziraphale raised his eyes, a hopeful glint flashing inside of them as he met Crowley’s yellow-black gaze with his hazel one. 

“Yes angel, I have. And it  _ is  _ a bit strange. You’ve had this shop for what? Two hundred years now, and its only in the past few weeks that you’ve suddenly discovered feather dusters and dish soap?” 

Aziraphale’s blush deepened. “Well yes..” he continued awkwardly. “What’s even more incomprehensible is that these urges don’t appear to be conscious.”

Crowley, feeling a twinge of recognition surrounding his own behavior lately was suddenly intent “What do you mean  _ not conscious _ . Like you did it without thinking about it before hand?”

“Exactly!” Aziraphale exclaimed, eyes brightening. “Yes! Like I hadn’t even thought about it. Sort of like the way I unfold my wings without thinking about it. Or how I perform miracles without thinking about it. Like its a sub-routine of my brain function. I just woke up one morning, shortly after we averted Armageddon and thought ‘must clean for Crowley’”.

“Angel” remarked Crowley cautiously, “I felt the same sort of thing… at least I think I did?” He saw Aziraphale’s gaze grow laser sharp as the angel regarded him and he summoned the courage to continue. “I wanted to make my flat more hospitable for you. I tried.. I truly did try. I put some books out.. I moved that bird statue I rescued from the church into a more prominent position in the flat. You didn’t notice though.”

“What bird statue?” asked Aziraphale, gaze blank of comprehension.

“Of course!” Crowley snapped, with an irritability he barely felt. “Of course you didn’t notice it! Unless it’s a book or a piece of cake, you couldn’t care less” He grinned a little to let Aziraphale know he wasn’t really angry. But the angel only reached out to put a burning hot hand on Crowley’s knee. Crowley struggled to keep his face straight, when his insides were rapidly turning to molten lava.

“Crowley dear,” asked Aziraphale with genuine curiosity and worry on his face. “What bird statue? I’ve no clue what you’re referring to, but I’d hate to ignore something that was important to you. The only statue I’ve ever seen in your flat is that rather… vulgar one.. Of the angels… ehem… wrestling”, he turned a darker shade of pink. 

“The stupid bird statue from the stupid church back in 1941! Don’t tell me you didn’t remember seeing it. It was sat right behind the alter and it was 15 bloody feet tall!” 

“Oh” said Aziraphale. “I suppose I was so worried about saving us from the bomb and about… about the books afterwards that I didn’t notice. I thought it was just one of your rather austere and tasteless decorations for your flat.”

“Tasteless? Austere?” Crowley quickly smothered the annoyance he felt building at Aziraphale’s complete obliviousness to his attempt at being romantic. 

“You saved it… from the bombing?” The angel asked reverently, and Crowley felt Aziraphale give his knee a gentle squeeze with that unbearably hot hand. He was suddenly very regretful over taking off his shades and wished he could hide behind something, anything. Maybe the earth would rise up and swallow him. Satan knows, it had happened before. 

“Yes.” he admitted awkwardly. I thought it rather impressive, and so I miracled it over to my flat before the authorities could investigate the bombing. It reminds me of that night.”

  
  


________________________________________________________

Aziraphale was only too conscious of that night. Not because of a silly bird statue, though he was moved that Crowley had wanted him to notice it. He remembered vividly the rush of relief he’d felt when Crowley had handed him the black bag of rescued prophecy books. The feel of Crowley’s cool, soft fingers as they’s brushed against his when he’d handed the bag over. But more than that, he’d remembered that night, that very moment, watching Crowley saunter off towards the Bently. How it had all suddenly seemed so clear. That he was deeply, helplessly, completely in love with Crowley. 

And with that realization had come a twin epiphany… that his feelings, so pure, so strong and so true for the demon, would only lead to misery and pain. For himself surely when Crowley was unable to return them. But also possibly for Crowley when he found out that the absent, platonic warmth he’d often aimed in Aziraphale’s direction had accidentally stirred this raging bonfire within his friend, a flaming heat that Crowley would then feel responsible for. Would probably then regret… 

In that moment, he knew that Crowley was truly innocent of any ill intent towards him. It was all Aziraphale’s fault. It was Aziraphale’s yearning and pining. His longing and his internal anguish that had made him reach out for the demon. 

His eyes must have grown sad, because Crowley placed a soft hand on top of the one that Aziraphale still held to his knee. “Are you alright angel?” he asked, concern coloring his voice. “If you don’t like the statue, I can always get rid of it. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Its not the statue” Aziraphale said, trying to focus despite the lovely feeling of the demon’s cool hand atop his own. He absently noticed that his heat was leaching into Crowley’s cool skin and making it warmer, and that Crowley’s coolness was making his heat dissipate somewhat. He wondered what would happen if the two of them were naked, pressed together. Would they exchange temperatures like this on a grander scale? Could he warm the demon’s cool flesh with his hot, eager hands…

He shook his head to dispel the thoughts with a gulp and soldiered onwards. “I do believe it was the wing ...er … situation that I wanted to talk about”

“Wing situation?” repeated Crowley uselessly. 

“Yes my dear. Doing what I did for you… preening, and erm… rearranging your feathers as it were. It felt... It…” He was suddenly at a loss for words, but he struggled to continue. For honesty’s sake. For the sake of his continued friendship with Crowley, that he cherished so deeply. He needed to clear the air. “It felt… “

“It felt bloody  _ amazing _ ” breathed Crowley, looking immediately embarrassed at his lapse. “I mean” he mumbled “It was quite nice. And now I feel all clean and… organized as it were. So thank you”, he finished. 

“Crowley dear, please do stop interrupting, or I’ll never be able to get this out” admonished Aziraphale, flustered and nervous. The demon nodded and stopped speaking… waited patiently for Aziraphale to tighten the proverbial noose around his neck and step off the ledge. 

“It felt amazing yes. For me too” continued Aziraphale. “It felt more than amazing actually. Like I was in a deep trance… like… like all the experiences I’d had in my life up until that point sort of paled in comparison. It felt like…”

“Home” Crowley interrupted again, but this time, Aziraphale was both grateful and shocked at the word coming out of the demon’s mouth. 

“Yes..” he uttered softly. “Yes. That’s  _ exactly _ right. It felt like... home”

They stared at one another for a moment and Aziraphale felt the air between them crackle with unseen electricity.  _ Oh dear _

“And then, afterwards…” he continued, heart in his throat “You looked so sweet and so vulnerable, just sitting there in front of me, and I felt so.. I don’t know.. I felt so close to you. I just had to touch you. And I promise it won’t happen again.” He could feel his voice take on a pleading note and cringed inwardly. “I promise I won’t cross that line anymore. I really didn’t mean to do it” He knew he was babbling. “I really shouldn’t ha -”

He couldn’t continue because Crowley had lunged forward suddenly and captured his lips with his own. 

______________________________________________________

  
  


Crowley was surprised at how easy it was to close the distance between them and press his lips to the angel’s soft lips. At the sound of Aziraphale apologizing…  _ apologizing _ of all things for wanting to touch him. For being helpless to stop himself. He couldn’t bare it. And just like that, he was kissing the angel. He inched forward swiftly on the couch so that he could move his body closer to Aziraphale’s, afraid the angel would pull back like he’d done before and wrapped an arm around the angel’s broad shoulders. The hand on top of Aziraphale’s laced its fingers with the angel’s fingers and brought them up to rest against his heart. Which he was certain was beating loud enough for both heaven and hell to hear. 

But Aziraphale didn’t pull back. Instead, he leaned into Crowley’s embrace and kissed him back, gently at first, with a soft sigh of breath through his nose that brushed Crowley’s cheek like the wings of a butterfly. He wrapped a deliciously hot hand around the back of Crowley’s neck to pull their mouths closer together, simultaneously, Crowley felt him open his achingly soft lips and slip his tongue into Crowley’s very willing and suddenly very open mouth. The kiss deepend and they both groaned against it. Crowley could feel his body burning with delicious fire. Nothing like hell fire… this intense tingling that spread through his chest and down his arms and coiled inside his lower abdomen with a tender ache. This wasn’t demonic. It felt pure and good. And it took his breath away. He heard himself make a high pitched whine of need and he kissed the angel back harder, more passionately, wanting to eat his mouth, to devour him. He let loose Aziraphale’s hand and wrapped his arm around the angel’s soft waist, pulling him in as close as their position on the couch would allow. 

Aziraphale met him exactly where he was. There was no bashful waiting. No pulling away. No hesitation. He kissed Crowley back with utter abandon, wrapping his greedy hands in Crowley’s hair and clenching fistfuls in his soft grip in a way that made Crowley’s insides twist deliciously. They were both utterly lost in pleasure and lost in each other. Small gasps and grunts of yearning issued unbidden from Crowley’s throat and he heard the angel groan deep in his chest in a way he didn’t think was decent for a being made of God’s light. 

_ We shouldn’t  _ He though vaguely, with a part of his brain he suddenly wanted to stab to death with a very sharp knife.  _ I’ll hurt him. I’ll corrupt him.  _ But, because he was a demon with no sense of propriety and because he was so incandescently happy in this moment, with Aziraphale, soft, beautiful, untouchable, maddening Aziraphale pressed up against him and kissing him in ways that made every cell in his body burn with delicious fire… he ignored the warning voice and let himself be pulled completely under the waves of passion and love that echoed up from inside him.

__________________________________________

They somehow made it upstairs. Aziraphale was having trouble remembering how, because it felt as if they never stopped kissing. Maybe they miracled their way to the bed? But he couldn’t recall either of them stopping long enough to do it. He was extremely occupied with learning the feel of Crowley’s mouth, the hottest part of him, as it opened against his own. Of memorizing the feel of Crowley’s tongue slipping with his own in a dance that made his knees buckle. His hands were busy making a mess of the demon’s bright red tresses. Hair he’d dreamed of touching for so so long. His fingers pulled and swirled, tugged and caressed the soft, sensual, beautiful hair he’d only let his eyes play over before. They fell onto the bed together which broke the kiss, for a moment, but then Aziraphale was at Crowley’s mouth again, even more fervently for the short break of two seconds that had felt like two hundred years. He lay on his side, with the demon’s slender body pressed deliciously up against his and with a snap of his fingers, with a miracle he was definitely conscious of committing, their clothes disappeared. 

The sudden feel of their skin touching down the full length of their bodies elicited twin gasps from both of them. Crowley cried out against Azirapahale’s mouth and broke the kiss again momentarily to whisper in a rough, breathless voice “ _ dear god” _ against Aziraphale’s open and straining lips. “Dear  _ GOD angel. _ You feel so  _ good _ you have me blaspheming” 

“My darling” replied Aziraphale, struggling to get the words out before he was pulled into another spate of kissing, needing to know “Please don’t continue if there’s  _ any  _ part of you that doesn’t want this. This can’t be a favor you do for me. This can’t be an act of mercy. Because I.. I’m so in love with you that it would end me if you didn’t truly want this” His eyes, suddenly desperate, searched Crowley’s face. 

“Angel” replied Crowley in a voice deep with emotion, his hands moving up to frame the angel’s worried face. “I have  _ ached _ to do this with you for longer than you can imagine.” His thumb gently traced the soft curve of Aziraphale’s cheek as he spoke. “Ever since I first saw you up on that wall all these thousands of years ago. I knew I was done for. I knew when I first saw those storm colored eyes of yours that I was an utter fool for you.”

“Oh Crowley” whispered Aziraphale. “I thought you couldn’t feel that way. I thought this whole time that demons couldn’t… love” 

“Well then, we’re both fools aren’t we angel?” Crowley smiled slowly, in a way that made Aziraphale fall a little more in love with him. “Because love is too small a word for what I’ve always felt for you. I have a great  _ need _ for you. A need to be near you. To touch you. To do whatever you ask of me. A need keep you safe. To make you cry out in pleasure. I’ve had this need for as long as I can remember, and hiding it from you was starting to kill me just a little.

“When you touched my wings, it all came rushing to the surface. You made me feel so … cared for and so safe. No one has ever done that for me before.  _ No one _ .” His face grew solemn “I am utterly and completely yours.” And with that, he recaptured Aziraphales lips in a searing hot kiss that took the angel’s breath away again. 

From there, things progressed swiftly. Their trembling hands moved desperately to touch each other in places that made the other gasp and cry out. They tangled themselves up together and moved against each other with delicious friction. Aziraphale looked deeply into Crowley’s eyes as Crowley moved above him, delighted in the cries of pleasure that he made echo from the demon’s long, sensuous throat as he used his mouth and hands on the demon’s beautiful body. Soon, too soon, he felt himself arch his body upwards and explode with pleasure, his hands wrapped again in Crowley’s hair, and a short time later, he managed to pull the most delicious noises out of his demon’s open mouth with his tongue and his hot hands. 

They lay together gasping and delirious, naked and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Despite the fact that Aziraphale had just had an immense orgasm, he felt as if he couldn’t keep his hands off of Crowley, that he could do it again and again. He let his fingers trail lazy circles over Crowley’s long limbs and down his silky back and up into his quit ridiculously ruined hair. Crowley luxuriated in his soft touches, eyes closed, face suffused with a satisfied smile that reminded Aziraphale of a happy serpent, sunning itself on a nice hot rock. He gently moved his soft, now much warmer hand in a long, sensuous sweep down Aziraphale’s side and hip and back again, over and over, reading him with his fingers like a holy text. 

__________________________________________________

Crowley moved in a few days later, after finding himself spending every intervening night back in Aziraphale’s bed, discovering new and fascinating ways to make the angel come apart with pleasure. And after waking up every morning, wrapped in Aziraphale’s warm embrace. What was the point in going back to his own cold, impersonal flat? With a few well placed miracles, they widened the plot of land under the bookshop and added another room for Crowley’s study, where he could keep his plants and his giant, flat screen tv and his leather couch, and so he’d have somewhere to go grumble when Aziraphale drove him mad with frustration, which the angel still did from time to time. 

They settled into a nice and easy routine. Aziraphale reading and puttering about the bookshop during the day while the demon went out and explored the city, or they’d go for a walk in the park, holding hands, at first cautiously and then with comfort and ease. Or they’d dine at any number of the best restaurants in the area, where Crowley would pick at his food and gaze lovingly while his angel reveled in culinary delights of all sorts. The locals, wait staff, bus drivers, local Bobbies who were by now used to seeing the pair about town, readily assumed they were just another gay couple. The two were well liked for their looks, their charm, and for Aziraphale’s habit of tipping so ludicrously.

After a year or so, Crowley bought a cookbook and started trying his hand at making meals at home. He was surprisingly good at it, and Aziraphale made sure to shower him with praise at every meal. Which made the demon blush. 

They preened and groomed each others wings with regularity, which always led to warm snuggles and then earth shattering sex. Neither one knew why and neither one cared. They were birds of a feather, finally roosted up together. Finally having the life and love they’d wanted for so many millennia.

Little did they know that it was a twist of avian genetics that finally helped them take the last step into each other’s arms. Perhaps they’d have been thankful that God had included this little loophole in their creation. Perhaps they wouldn’t have cared. We’ll never know. Regardless dear reader, I hope that I’ve afforded you a few moments of entertainment and maybe a bit of happiness, and that you’ve enjoyed my tale…that of the demon Crowley, and his angel, Aziraphale. 


End file.
